Shades of Violet(s)
by xfmoon
Summary: A little introspective tag to 6x16 Violets. Takes place right at and after the ending.


**A/N: **A little tag to epi 6x16 Violets. After not being able to write anything but rubbish for a while, this thing came to me after watching last night's epi. Which made for a rather sleepless night, so it's mostly written for my own peace of mind, and to shake off the cobwebs and this current writer's block.

**Spoilers: **Up until and including 6x16 Violets.

**Disclaimer: **I own one fake painting, but I don't own the rights to The Mentalist.

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While sitting across from Agent Pike eating her whipped cream covered pancakes, sprawled with fresh strawberries and sprinkled with dark chocolate, it hit her. What he'd said to the art thief. About the man, who loved his brother's wife but couldn't show it, couldn't express it in words. So he'd done the only other thing he could do and was good at... paint. It didn't really parallel to anything here, it was just something Jane had said, but as far as Lisbon knew that man never said or did anything unnecessary or without careful considerations. That's why the look in Jane's eyes as they had left him there at his couch, haunted her now, there was just something about it that made her think of the story again. It was a look of defeat. He'd done what he always did, what he was good at. Trapping people simply with the use of his mind. She'd seen how happy he'd been playing pretend. But as soon as the fish had been caught and the game was over and he'd realized what was likely going on with her and Pike his face fell, he'd covered it up quickly, but she knew him too well. Knew it bothered him.

This was what her mind was mulling over as she put another piece of breakfast food in her mouth. And that's when it hit her. Manet, the painter, had made this incredible thing, this painting, for love. Because of this man's unrequited love, it existed in the world today. And though the situation was different and didn't quite leave the same mark on the world, everything Jane had done was out of love for his family, which by extension included her and the team. He'd done what he was best at, helped people, out of love for someone else. Even here after his revenge was complete, he was still helping others. She liked the idea that she had played a part in getting him on the right path, that some of what he did was out of love and respect for her.

Doing something good for someone was nice, doing something good because of someone was a grand gesture. One, she wasn't quite sure how she felt about or should relate to. If her suspicions were correct, Jane had had more than one agenda with creating his little undercover job.

Well the painting hadn't helped Manet. Forbidden love had made him pour his heart and soul into his work knowing he'd never be able to touch the real thing. It was sad, really. Heartbreakingly so. But in the grand scheme of things it hadn't made a difference, not for the painter or for the subject of his affections.

She couldn't let this affect her, and she wasn't going to, no matter how she felt herself. There was too much at risk for them, and somehow their timing never seemed to be right. She sighed letting the thoughts fly out of her mind as the air left her lungs through her mouth. Then she poked at half a strawberry, put it in her mouth and let the sweetness followed by a slight bitterness fill her senses as she looked back up at Pike concentrating on what it was he actually was saying to her.

**xXx**

He didn't know how he'd missed it. He'd been too preoccupied coming up with the plan to help the grieving widow. To show everybody just how grand and elaborate his schemes could be. And he'd fixed it so he got to play house with Lisbon in the process, if only for a little while.

How had he not seen_ that_ connection forming? He could just kick himself. He had practically been the force that brought them together. He might have hoped this little undercover job would have given him a way in. As he at the moment had no other idea about how to approach this, and that frightened him a bit. He hadn't been this clueless since... he couldn't even remember. It hadn't been this hard with Angela. Was he getting old? Losing his touch? No, that wasn't it. It was their history together, it was long and it was complicated and putting their hearts on the line wasn't going to make anything easier, they both knew that. But that didn't make it any less painful to watch her waltz off with another man. He just had to be patient, wait and hope that this was just another Mashburn and not a potential Greg. He could do that, couldn't he?

Like the pining brother and his painting he had for years now dedicated his work to her in his heart, tough she didn't know it. Her love for him had been what had held him together, and in turn made him love her. He would never have been doing this if it wasn't for her, would probably have ended up in a gutter somewhere. He owed her so much, and if this was what was needed to make her happy he'd gladly let her go. He knew he would always be dear to her, but not necessarily loved by her. A lump formed in his throat and suddenly he couldn't get the damned scarf off fast enough. Ridding himself of the false persona that had had the girl, but ultimately wasn't real. The one that had led in the wolf by the backdoor. He threw it, as far away as possible, over on the other end of the couch, along with his immediate hopes and ambitions. He could hear the others talking and laughing in the fishbowl while eating case closed pizza. He should join them, but he just needed to sit here… alone, for a little while.

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**A/N: **Turned out kinda depressing. But so did the epi, although I personally loved it, the last scene was heartbreaking to watch.


End file.
